


All the Shadows of Our Doubts

by enigmaticblue



Series: Dean Winchester, Agent of SHIELD [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Pandemics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: “I’ll do it,” Bruce says with that resolute expression Dean has come to know so well.
Series: Dean Winchester, Agent of SHIELD [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/84298
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	All the Shadows of Our Doubts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt “healers” and the trope_bingo prompt “unhappy ending.” Title from the Over the Rhine Song, “It’s Never Quite What It Seems”

_“…and it bleeds/this setting sun/and my arms ache from holding on/let it go/this dying light/makes it hard to tell/wrong from right/and it’s never quite what it seems. All the shadows of our doubts/and the light that burns too bright/soon burns out/and your face/you do know well/that the race is lost/hold still/‘cause the first shall be the last/those that burn with thirst/will lift their glass/and it’s never quite what it seems_.” ~ Over the Rhine, “It’s Never Quite What It Seems”

“It’s something of an unusual request, but you’ve become known for being somewhat unusual,” Ryan begins.

Dean doesn’t think that’s a great beginning, since he and Bruce are trying to fly under the radar. He just hopes that Ross doesn’t turn his sights on the African continent and start looking into the NGO workers who met with Tony Stark personally last month.

“What do you need?” Bruce asks.

Ryan gives him an approving look. “Have you two heard about the cholera outbreak in the DRC?”

“Sure,” Bruce says immediately. “Word gets around.”

“They’re running low on antibiotics and supportive therapies, as well as medical supplies,” Ryan continues. “And the WHO needs someone to transport those supplies. Their usual couriers aren’t available, or are a little too concerned about the current political climate to try.”

“Two guys who don’t normally work for the WHO have a better chance of getting those supplies through,” Dean sums up.

Ryan nods. “That about covers it. We have money for the appropriate bribes at the border, but they’ve been charging the WHO an exorbitant rate.”

“They know they’re good for it,” Dean says. “The supplies have to get to the site of the outbreak, so the border guards are going to charge whatever they can.”

“That’s what they think as well,” Ryan agrees. “I have a contact in the WHO, and I brought up the two of you. I didn’t make any promises, but I thought it might be worth a try.”

“I’ll do it,” Bruce says with that resolute expression Dean has come to know so well. “And I’d like to stick around to help if I can.”

Ryan nods. “You’re both qualified. The treatment for cholera isn’t complicated. It’s mostly rehydration therapy and antibiotics. I can let my contact know that you’re willing to courier the supplies and stay to help if they need a couple of extra hands.”

“Just let us know when and where,” Dean replies. “We’re always happy to help, you know that.”

“You two are my best,” Ryan says fondly. “I’ll be sorry to lose you. That cash infusion you managed to get out of the donor is going to keep us going for a long time to come.”

Bruce gives him a puzzled frown. “What makes you think you’re going to lose us?”

“Come on,” Ryan replies with a laugh. “Give me a little credit. There’s going to be a day when you’re not content delivering supplies, and you decide you want to do something bigger.”

“I’m pretty happy with where I am,” Bruce protests. “I have no intention of going anywhere else.”

Dean understands what Ryan isn’t saying, and he’s pretty sure that Bruce does, too. People with their backgrounds and their skillsets aren’t typically content to dig wells and teach English and courier supplies through dangerous zones, at least not forever. In Ryan’s mind, they’re smart and personable enough to wring a considerable donation out of a rich guy who asked to meet with them on a whim.

Guys like them will pack up and move on eventually.

Ryan shrugs. “I admire your dedication to the job, both of you. I’ll be in touch with the details.”

They head back to their rented guest house in Dar es Salaam, a different one this time, but just as comfortable. Their usual place had been rented out already, and they’re between jobs.

And that might be another reason that Ryan assumes they’ll leave sooner or later, because theyobviously have a source of income that has nothing to do with their work for Crossing Borders.

Either that, or Ryan knows exactly who they are, and who they went to meet in Germany, and he assumes they’ll have to run eventually. Dean doesn’t trust Ryan, at least not enough to ask if that’s the case, but he figures the man would have turned them in already if he was so inclined.

“What do you think?” Bruce asks once they have privacy.

Dean throws himself on the couch in the living room. “I think traveling to the DRC is dangerous, and Ryan knows we can handle ourselves. He probably owes a favor to this contact at the WHO, and is using us to fulfill it.”

“Problem?” Bruce asks.

Dean shrugs. “We know there’s a cholera outbreak, and they’ll need supplies, because they pretty much always do. I have no problem with it, but we’ll need to be careful.”

Bruce sits down in one of the other chairs. “Agreed, but is there a reason?”

“Tony emailed me a couple of weeks ago,” Dean admits. “Ostensibly to ask my advice about how to deal with Peter, but I’m pretty sure he was mostly low-key bragging about he’s taking an active role in the kid’s training.”

Bruce snorts. “That sounds like Tony.”

“But he also slipped in a comment about a mutual friend who was nosing around again, and my guess is that’s Ross,” Dean adds. “And if Ross knows we were in Munich, he might be able to trace us here.”

“The American military doesn’t have a presence here,” Bruce objects.

“The king of Wakanda does,” Dean counters. “I’m not saying we don’t go, because there really aren’t a lot of places in the world we can run to at this point, but we are going to need to be extra careful.”

Bruce appears troubled. “Do you think we should turn down the job?”

“No, I think we’re the right people to take the supplies to where they need to go, and we both know you aren’t going to get sick. I might not even be able to catch it, and we’ll know to avoid the local water.” Dean leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “I’m just saying, doc. We need to exercise caution.”

“Granted,” Bruce agrees readily.

Dean gives him a look. “This is important to you.”

“I might not be a doctor of medicine, but I tried to do my best to heal people with very limited supplies and resources,” Bruce says quietly. “I know we do good, important work, but the idea of being able to help heal people again… I really want that.”

Dean understands, and he would do a lot for Bruce. If Bruce wants to deliver medical supplies and lend a hand, then Dean will do whatever he can to give him that. “Okay. I figure, between the two of us, if something does go wrong, we can be half a world away before anybody gets news of where we are.”

Or even just a couple of countries. A lot of African nations hadn’t signed the Accords, and T’Challa had proclaimed that he was a believer in every country’s right to self-governance. Dean is pretty sure they could disappear into the DRC if necessary.

“Someone has to get those supplies to the people who need them,” Dean replies with a grin. “I had a couple of missions like this, and I always preferred the humanitarian ones. Better us than some poor WHO couriers who wouldn’t know what to do with a gun pointing at their faces.”

Bruce offers a relieved smile. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean waves off his gratitude, because he means it. It’s a necessary job, and if it makes Bruce happy, he’s all for it.

~~~~~

Two days later, they’re in one of the NGO’s trucks heading for the DRC. There are some dummy supplies near the door, making it look like the load is mostly donated clothing and toys. The antibiotics and other medical supplies are deeper in the compartment, and Dean hopes no one gets that far. If someone _does_ , the bribes will have failed, and the entire mission will have to be scrubbed.

The journey takes three days, since they’re heading to the province of North-Kivu, just across the border from Tanzania. They camp out under the stars and rely on the supplies they’ve brought with them. It’s not terrible, sleeping out under the stars, a fire burning brightly to warn away any wildlife.

“Are you ready for this?” Dean asks.

Bruce sighs. “Cholera epidemics are mostly a nasty business.”

Dean knows that cholera is caused by contaminated water, and that it causes diarrhea and vomiting. “I know it. We’ll be up to our ears in shit.”

“Something like that,” Bruce admits. “You can sit this one out, Dean. Once we deliver the supplies—“

“If you’re staying, I’m staying,” Dean insists. “Hell, I changed Sam’s diapers often enough as a kid, I’m used to all sorts of shit.”

Bruce barks a laugh. “Not like this.”

“No, probably not,” Dean admits readily enough. “But that doesn’t change anything. We’re a package deal, you and me.”

As they approach the border early on the third day, Dean switches sides with Bruce, since they had decided that Dean would be better at answering questions, mostly because Dean’s better at playing a dumb American.

They stop at the checkpoint, although the line is about ten cars deep, so they crawl along until they reach the actual guards. The demand for their papers comes in French, which Dean pretends not to understand.

He might not speak French, but he knows a request for passports when he hears it.

“Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” Dean says apologetically, putting on his best “dumb American” expression. “Just English.”

“Passports, please,” the guard says roughly.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, accepting Bruce’s passport and handing them both over along with several folded bills tucked within the covers.

The guard glances at them. “Your business here?”

“Just delivering some clothes and toys to a few orphanages,” Dean replies casually. “Check the back if you’re curious.” When he accepts the passports back, the money is gone.

The guard nods. “Is it locked?”

“Just latched,” Dean replies, leaning back in his seat as though he hasn’t a care in the world. He doesn’t even glance at Bruce, not wanting to risk breaking character.

A few minutes pass, and Dean can hear shuffling from the back of the truck, but it doesn’t last long. The guard returns and says, “You may pass.”

Dean nods. “Gracias.”

The guard frowns at him but waves him through anyway, although Dean can hear Bruce making sounds that might be muffled laughter.

“I know you aren’t that stupid, but I would have never guessed from that performance,” Bruce says once they’re free and clear.

Dean grins at him. “Hey, I wasn’t going to let on that I even knew one word of French.”

“Yeah, but still,” Bruce says, still chuckling. “That was masterfully done.”

Dean inclines his head. “Thanks. I know how to do undercover, doc.”

“You do, but that was a different level.” Bruce blows out a breath. “So, I guess we have a clear path to the outbreak.”

“Lucky us,” Dean replies. with a grimace. He’s not really looking forward to this, but he has Bruce’s back. He always will.

~~~~~

The camp where they have the cholera victims is packed full and teeming with activity. There are cots in the open air tents spaced a couple of feet apart, with someone on pretty much every cot. There are IV stands and miserable people and children, and Dean takes a long, deep breath, nearly tasting the overwhelming smell of antiseptic that barely covers the odor of human waste.

He and Bruce help the WHO workers unload the supplies from the truck, and Bruce says, “We have some limited medical training. Is there anything we can do to help? We’re between assignments for Crossing Borders at the moment.”

The harried-looking doctor hesitates. “Ryan said you were willing to stick around and knew something about basic aid.”

Bruce nods. “We’ve both put in IVs, and I know the treatment protocol for cholera.”

Dr. Mbungu snaps on a new pair of gloves. “We could use more hands, but the job is hardly glamorous.”

Bruce quirks an eyebrow. “I’m _very_ familiar with the cholera protocols.”

Dr. Mbungu barks a laugh that holds little humor. “Well, then, if you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

Dean only wishes he were joking a couple of days later. There is, in fact, a lot of shit, but also a lot of sick people. The otherwise healthy adults respond well to the rehydration therapy and antibiotics, but the small children and the elderly struggle to recover, if they recover at all. On the third day, they have their first death—a two-year-old who has already proven allergic to the antibiotics.

The kid is gaunt, his eyes sunken and listless even before he takes a turn for the worse. The mom sits next to the cot, holding his hand and muttering in a language Dean doesn’t understand. He assumes she’s praying or maybe just pleading for her kid to be okay, but the little light remaining in the boy’s eyes fades slowly, flies landing on his face, and it might be one of the worst things that Dean has ever seen in his life.

And he’s seen a lot of bad things.

The mother picks up the boy’s lifeless form, holding him to her chest and beginning to wail. She rocks him back and forth, and Dean has to look away.

Bruce is two cots over, helping a teenage boy drink from a cup, and he glances towards Dean, his expression grim. There are dark circles under Bruce’s eyes, and new lines of tension around his mouth.

One of the nurses, Dean thinks her name is Rose, goes over to the woman to comfort her, and after a few more minutes of wailing, they leave the tent with the body of the child.

Dean has seen the makeshift morgue, and he figures that’s where they’re heading. Dean finishes switching out the IV bag on his patient, and tries to put his own feelings aside.

There are more sick people to tend, and Dean doesn’t have time to think about the dead kid.

It’s late when Dr. Mbungu sends them both to rest in the small tent they’d brought with them. Dean is exhausted and hungry, and he wants nothing more than a hot shower and a hot, decent meal, neither of which he’s going to get.

Instead, Dean lights a kerosene lantern and pulls out a couple of power bars. He offers one to Bruce, who’s lying on his sleeping bag with an arm over his eyes. “You need to eat, doc.”

“Not hungry,” Bruce mutters.

Dean doesn’t blame him, but they have another five days before they need to head back to Dar es Salaam, and they’re planning on helping out here. “You need your strength. Tomorrow isn’t going to be any easier.”

Bruce snorts. “No. There are at least three others who are unlikely to recover.”

Dean nudges him with the power bar. “I’m not giving up until you eat something.”

Bruce takes the bar and tears open the wrapper without another word, and Dean watches him, sensing that something is off. “You want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Bruce asks bitterly. “We’re like the boy with his finger in the dyke, with leaks springing up everywhere.”

Dean takes a bite of his own bar. “You don’t think we’re doing good here?”

“I think the one thing that would help these people is a reliable source of clean water,” Bruce says, his tone heated. “If I had the resources that Tony does, I could prevent an outbreak like this from ever happening. It’s _entirely_ preventable.”

Dean thinks this might be the first time that Bruce has expressed that particular sentiment. He’s talked about missing Tony and the others on the team, of course, but not the resources he had at his disposal with Tony Stark as his boyfriend, or the wealth and reach of Stark Industries.

For the first time since they left, Dean thinks that Bruce might want to go back someday.

“You could always ask Tony,” Dean points out. “He would send resources.”

Bruce looks at Dean, his eyes filled with bitter anguish in the dim light. “I had plans for a clean water system that would work anywhere, you know. I got distracted with other projects, with Tony and the Avengers, and I never finished it. If I had—“

“If you had, there would still be parts of the world without clean water,” Dean says gently. “I think you know that.”

“But I could provide _this_ place with clean water,” Bruce argues. “I could prevent an outbreak from happening again.”

There really isn’t anything that Dean can say to argue against that, and Bruce is right from the standpoint that without a long-term, reliable source of clean water, cholera outbreaks will continue to occur, and people will die.

In that respect, at least, Dean understands Bruce’s frustration. It’s like being able to treat the symptoms of the disease but not the disease itself.

“What do you want to do?” Dean asks quietly.

Bruce sighs. “We do what we came here to do. We help out as best we can for the time we’re here, and then we go back to our regular lives.”

“Are you okay?” Dean already knows the answer, but he has to ask.

Bruce is quiet for a long moment. “No, I’m not. That child didn’t have to die today, Dean.”

Dean can still hear the wails of the boy’s mother. “I know, doc,” he murmurs. “Maybe one day we’ll be able to go home, and then we can work on saving the world another way.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d ever _want_ to go home again,” Bruce confesses.

“I know,” Dean says. “But there’s something to be said for having Tony Stark’s resources. You can do a lot of good with it.”

“Clean water, vaccines, mosquito netting, sustainable agriculture and farming…” Bruce trails off.

“Hold on to that thought,” Dean says quietly. “We’ll save the world someday.”

But someday isn’t today, and when Dean blows out the light and closes his eyes, he can see only the light leaving the kid’s eyes, and he hears the wails of the mother.

He doesn’t think he’ll sleep any time soon.


End file.
